


Three Months Gone

by Prentice



Category: Fright Night (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Bloodplay, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, True Mates, Vampire Sex, all bad things basically, messed up ideas of romance, this is jerry's idea of a happy ending, vampire mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:09:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2250219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prentice/pseuds/Prentice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took less time than Jerry expected for the boy to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Months Gone

It took less time than Jerry expected for the boy to break.

He supposed he shouldn't be surprised – there was something to be said about being all alone in the world and Jerry had long since seen to it that this boy and this boy _in particular_ had no one in his life – but it was still something of a shock to open the door to the cell and realize the boy was waiting for him. No, not just waiting for him, it seemed, but actually _hoping_ that it was him, if the look of honest relief and desperate, almost begrudging, joy on his face was any indication.

Lips pulling into his trademark smirk, Jerry leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossing in front of his chest. The sight before him was a strangely familiar one. He'd seen it at least once a day since this whole thing began, back when the boy had thought he could actually get away, could actually escape, and that Jerry could actually be stopped.

Legs and wrists shackled expertly to a u-bolt in the floor, Charley Brewster was a sight to behold, even as dirty and sleep-deprived as he was at the moment. Still in the ripped jeans and ragged t-shirt that Jerry had picked him up in, he looked everything and nothing like the defiant teenager Jerry had tossed into the makeshift cell three months ago. He was paler now, the last vestiges of his tan having faded weeks ago, and his hair, once cropped curly and short, was longer now, locks of it curling over his ears and forehead in a messy tumble the boy hadn't bothered to tame.

His face, though pale and bruised, was a bit more sunken, his cheek bones slicing across his face like blades, and his lips were raw; chapped over and cracked. A line of yellowish-green bruising decorated his chin, a memento from the last time he'd tried – and failed – to escape, and there was light, nearly imperceptible stubble along his chin. Altogether, it made him look – tired, young, vulnerable – but also – also –

_Mine_ , Jerry thought with  an almost primal satisfaction. Because those were only the most obvious changes, weren't they? The ones most easily spotted?

The other changes, the more important ones, were surprising  in their subtlety. Once you realized they were gone, like the  poisonous glares  the boy had been giving him every time he opened the door  or the loud venomous shouts that had left the boy hoarse, angry, and dissatisfied for days, it was like looking at the boy for the first time.  Gone was the would-be hunter the boy had tried to become, untrained and unskilled; unprepared for what he was up against. 

Gone were the angry tears that he could sometimes smell on the boy. Gone were the feeble, nearly laughable, attempts to escapes. _Gone_ was everything that made the boy something that wasn't Jerry's.

Oh, there was still fire there – sleeping, maybe; banked beneath too many weeks left living underground, hidden away from light and touch and basic human contact. Jerry didn't mind, though. He liked the boy's fire, the passion that burned bright beneath his skin.

It was the defiance that Jerry hated. The disbelief and the anger; the thinly veiled disgust and, ultimately, challenge to his authority. Charley was _his_ – every part of him – and he needed to understand that. Needed to accept that, above and beyond everything else, or Jerry would have to keep him chained in the basement indefinitely.

He didn't want to – his children only entertained him for so long before they annoyed him and every instinct he had pushed at him to break down the door and take the boy, his _mate –_ _the word alone was enough to make him hard, jeans tightening and fangs aching; the boy was his –_ his _– and no one else's –_ and claim him right there on the unfinished floor – but it was a long game he was playing and he had every intention of winning.

Which, by the looks of things, he was already well on his way to doing.

Smirk widening at the way the boy eyed him, Jerry pushed himself off the door jam, arms falling to his sides as he stepped into the room. The boy didn't flinch from his place on his cot, the one and only piece of furniture in the room, but instead tracked him, eyes squinting in the near darkness. It wasn't easy to do.

Over the last three months, Jerry had made little concession to the boy's human side. Only giving him the minimal of comforts in order to keep him relatively healthy and entirely sane. Light, therefore, hadn't always been very high on the list, though he'd given the boy a nightlight to keep him from slipping into madness and would, on occasion, allow him a lamp for a few hours if he was good so he could sit and read whatever Jerry had a mind to give him.

Usually, it had been the local paper.

It had been purposely cruel – the first few days after Charley's disappearance there had been nothing in the paper and then, nearly a week after, there had been a few articles with the boy's name attached with a desperate plea from his mother; a month later, two months, three, and interest had waned with only a short op-ed about teenage runaways and why it happened so frequently here so near Sin City – but it had worked.

As time had gone by, as less and less focus had been given, and Charley's mother had started to give up small pieces of her hope, Charley had changed. The sharp bite of his defiance lessening more and more until here they were. With his Charley boy grateful to see him – happy to see him.

Smirk softening into something a little less intense, Jerry reached out, fingertips ghosting over the side of the boy's face, sharp fingernails trailing red lines that faded just as quickly as they appeared. “How are you feeling today, Charley? Better than yesterday?”

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Charley nodded, his face tilting ever so slightly closer to Jerry's finger. It was an unconscious gesture, one that the boy probably wasn't even aware he was making. It made Jerry grin.

Yes, he was definitely on his way to winning.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to several challenges over at the Fright Night Kink Meme, all of which were varying shades of Jerry/Charley. I couldn't pick one and didn't want to disappoint anyone by leaving something out so I thought I'd post it here instead. This isn't going to be a long fic so expect only one or two more chapters depending on just how smutty this gets.


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